Hunting and Deductions
by DoctorWinchesterOf221B
Summary: Sam and Dean are hunting a creature in a circus, but Sam meets an unlikely character while undercover.


"Dory?" Sherlock said, his eyebrows raised, "What type of name is that?"

"Well, that's rude," Sam replied, holding back laughter. The name was Dean's idea of a joke. Sam cursed him mentally and continued to pick up trash from the ground.

"Then again, you are working in a circus," Sherlock said, his coat flapping in the bitter autumn wind. Sam looked after him, his mouth open in astonishment. He didn't feel offended in any way, technically he'd only been an employee of this hellish circus for two hours and he didn't plan on staying for much longer. Just till the case was solved and the killer clown had been ganked. He felt amused at the man with the long coat and blue scarf. And the strange thing was that Sam wanted to know more about him. First of all, why had he been at a circus all on his own? Was he another hunter? That didn't make any sense, but still, Sam wondered.

"What's up, Cinderella?" Dean's voice lured him out of his thoughts and back to the case in hand. Sam shook his head, an annoyed look on his face. Dean smirked at him, all the more satisfied that he'd annoyed his younger brother.

"Do you see that man? The one in the long black coat?" asked Sam. Dean craned his neck trying to see the man that had captured his brother's attentions.

"That guy?" Dean asked, pointing at Sherlock's retreating figure. Sam nodded and recounted the strange meeting with him.

"So? Maybe he was hitting on you?" Dean replied playfully nudging his brother in the ribs. Sam shook his head again, his hair flying in the wind.

"It was as if he could see through me, through the charade. Do you think he's a hunter? Why is he here?" Sam was intrigued by this man. He had so many questions but he couldn't focus on that. There was a case he had to concentrate on.

"I don't know. If he's here because of the evil clown I guess we'll know soon enough." Dean looked at his brother, and then walked away.

It was midnight. The air was cold and the two brothers were waiting. Sam looked at Dean in the darkness of the night.

"You sure it's him? We gotta be sure before we gank him." Dean asked. Sam nodded solemnly. It was then that Sam heard it, the faint rustling in the bushes behind him. He made a silent motion to his brother then went to see who, or what, was lurking in the bushes. Suddenly, a dark figure emerged from the undergrowth and Sam pointed a gun at the figure at the same moment as the latter pointed one at Sam.

"We meet again. Sam," the figure said, "I thought you'd be around here somewhere."

"Who are you?" replied Sam, his gun never wavering. As Sam looked up and down the man in front of him he recognised him, "You. How do you know us?"

"I'm not the one you're hunting. Yes, I know you're hunters; no, I am not a hunter but I'm here to kill this thing as well." said the man "As to how I know you're hunters, well, that was simple really. Your shoes. They are well worn, with soil found not in this part of America, and the salt sprinkled on them suggests that you tried to deter something unnatural, unless you're just clumsy and you dropped the salt shaker. The name's Sherlock Holmes and I am here to help you."

Sam was amazed. How could one man notice all of that in just one, maybe two, meetings?

"Sam? SAM!" Dean's voice cut through the air, and the panicked tone jarred Sam back to reality. He was satisfied that this Sherlock wouldn't shoot him as soon as he turned his back, so the hunter ran to where his brother needed his help.

There, by the carousel. He saw a struggling figure being dragged behind the structure and he ran towards them. He heard Sherlock running just behind him, and Sam imagined the man's coat flapping in the wind. Sam was confused, Dean was in danger yet a part of his brain insisted on thinking about the other man. Sam fired a shot, and it hit its' target. The salt round, though useless on corporeal beings still hurt like hell, so it hindered the creature. It let Dean go but it came charging at Sam, its claws sharp and long like an eagle's talons. Before Sam could shoot, the creature had pounced on him, knocking him to the ground. Sam screamed in pain as the creature started to rip his skin but suddenly, there was a movement behind the beast and Sherlock had knocked the latter aside. Dean was there to finish off the creature and it disintegrated into a pile of ash as Dean sunk the pure bronze blade into its heart.

The sun had started to rise and a cool mist had settled over the camp. The three men stared at the pile of ash as it glinted in the pale morning sun.

"I guess an introduction is in order. My name is Sherlock Holmes and I hope that we will be able to work together in the future."

Dean looked at Sherlock curiously, "well, right back at you. I think some pie is in order, huh Sammy?"

Sam smiled half heartedly, clutching the gash the creature had made in his side. Sam stared off into the distance as his brother walked back to the Impala.

"You're not a hunter, but you were hunting that thing? Why?" Sam asked, his clear voice cutting through the brisk air.

"I'm a consulting detective. My case led me here, to this place. I deal with the regular things, not the supernatural, unlike you hunters. We should have dinner sometime. Talk about things."Sherlock replied, looking Sam straight in the eye. Sam felt his cheeks redden, but despite that, despite his confusion, he nodded in assent, dreading what Dean would say. So the hunter and the consulting detective walked away, together.


End file.
